


Relaxation

by CashaMayfield



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CashaMayfield/pseuds/CashaMayfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both had different ways of relaxing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relaxation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrlnPndrgn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrlnPndrgn/gifts).



>  Written for [](http://mrlnpndrgn.livejournal.com/profile)[mrlnpndrgn](http://mrlnpndrgn.livejournal.com/) by request over [here](http://users.livejournal.com/__wilderness__/44994.html), who'd take U.N.C.L.E. any day :D
> 
> First posted on Livejournal on 09/09/2007

They had different ways of relaxing after a tough mission.  For once (it seemed to Napoleon at any rate - Illya would vehemently argue the point) they were both relatively injury free and able to go home immediately.  Napoleon drove, thankful that his partner didn't argue and remind him of the reckless driving he had done.  If he had thought about it, he would have realised it was indicative of the fact the slight Russian was more exhausted than he cared to let on.  As Illya dozed on the short drive to their apartment complex, Napoleon found himself re-running the mission, trying to work out what had gone wrong and how they could do better.  
"Stop thinking about it."  The Russian accent was always stronger when he was tired, as if it was too much of an effort to try and sound less Russian.  Not that Napoleon minded.  Of course he would deny it except under the harshest Illya-administered tortures that he loved the sound of the lilting accent issuing from his partner's mouth.  
"I can't help it."  
"It should be me that keeps going over what went wrong."  
"You didn't do anything wrong."  
"Could have planted the charges in a better location."  Napoleon didn't reply.  There was nothing he could say.  Illya had placed the charges in the best location available to them.  It was just unfortunate that he got trapped in the area by Thrush guards that had appeared from apparently nowhere.  When the explosives went off the building started to crumble, burying everyone in the immediate vicinity under rubble.  Napoleon had been in a different area, trying to locate the plans when the explosion occurred.   Immediately trying to contact Illya via communicator and getting no response, he contacted Headquarters and requested a clean up team.  
Heart beating fast, he'd waited and watched as the clean up crew slowly removed the rubble.  When they uncovered the first body of a Thrush guard, his heart had sunk.  The little hope he had been holding on to since seeing the state of the area faded quickly.  When he had seen the first hint of blonde beneath the dust, his breath quickened, knowing that the next few moments could change the rest of his life.  Illya was crouched under a heavy cross beam which had created a pocket big enough for him to be protected.  Blinking at the welcome intrusion of the early morning light, he coughed and smiled sheepishly up at Napoleon.  Napoleon let out a deep breath and held out his hand to help Illya up.

They had returned to Headquarters; Illya straight to medical (on Napoleon's orders) and Napoleon to report to Alexander Waverley.  Meeting up at the end of the day they drove home together, as they always did.

Parking up outside their apartment complex, they made their way to the lift, Illya leaning gratefully against the wall.  
"What do you want for dinner?"  Illya opened an eye.  
"Anything, I'm starving."  
"You're always starving."  They fell back easily into their normal banter.  
Once Illya was settled comfortably on the couch, Napoleon started cooking.  He smiled as the sound of jazz filtered into the kitchen.  They both had different ways of relaxing; Illya sat quietly and listened to music, Napoleon cooked.

Dinner was a quiet affair; Illya far too busy eating and Napoleon not wishing to disturb him.  They sat back together on the couch afterwards, washing up neatly stacked in the kitchen and their wine glasses refilled.  They talked quietly about nothing and nobody, revelling in peace and quiet and the thought of a mission completed.  
  
Sure they both had different ways of relaxing, but as long as they relaxed together, they were happy.


End file.
